


I make the boys fall like dominoes

by ohmcgee



Series: ohmcgee's mallverse [15]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Retail, M/M, mallverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are we in some kind of competition to see who can come to work looking the sluttiest that I didn't know about?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I make the boys fall like dominoes

**Author's Note:**

> sometime around/before/after [you wrung me out too many times](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4591236)

“He’s so rude,” Roy says while Jason folds a stack of t-shirt. “At this point I think he’s just doing it to watch my brain melt out of my ears.”

Jason looks up in time to see Tim bending over at the waist to pick up a necklace that fell off the display rack, getting a brief glimpse of frilly pink underwear before he straightens back up, putting the necklace back -- Jason notes -- in _entirely_ the wrong place. 

“Yeah probably,” he says, going back to his folding. 

“It’s not fair,” Roy whines. “How am I supposed to _work_ like this, Jaybird?”

Jason snorts. “When was the last time you worked in this store, Roy?”

“Hey, I helped Tim hang those t-shirts up yesterday.”

“No, Roy,” Jason says. “You held the ladder so you could look up Tim’s skirt yesterday.”

“Oh yeah,” Roy grins, drifting off in thought for the moment. “They were little Hello Kitty ones we have on sale in the back, had Hello Kitty’s face right on his --”

“I really don’t need to hear it,” Jason says. He can imagine it _just_ fine, especially with Roy holding his hands up like he’s trying to grope Tim’s invisible ass. 

“C’mon, Jay,” Roy says, elbowing Jason in the side and when Jason looks up again Tim’s scratching an itch on the inside of his thigh, shamelessly pulling his skirt up damn near to his bellybutton. “I need help here, clearly.”

Jason sighs. “What do you want me to do?”

“I dunno,” Roy pops his gum. “You always have some kind of words of wisdom or whatever.”

Jason snorts. “Roy, ‘don’t eat the whole bottle of Adderall is hardly words of wisdom.” But Roy just gives him this wounded puppy dog face, so Jason sighs, leans back against the counter and folds his arms over his chest, figuring he’s not going to get any work done until Roy leaves him alone. “I don’t know. I guess you could give him a taste of his own medicine.”

Roy laughs so hard he swallows his gum. “Oh wait, you were serious?”

“Yes, I was _serious_ ,” Jason says. 

“Oh,” Roy says. “Well then that was extremely disappointing, because that’s not going to work.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Roy laughs, motioning at Tim. “He looks good in a fucking _tutu_ , Jay. I clearly can’t compete.”

“And you look hot in a backwards baseball cap and a shirt with the sleeves cut off,” Jason says, feeling a little heat in his cheeks when a certain memory pops into his head, riding Roy on the couch while they shotgunned a joint, Roy wearing that stupid, dirty baseball cap that kind of drove him wild. 

“Yeah,” Roy says. “But Tim doesn’t --”

“He looks at you,” Jason says. “You don’t see it because you’re a dumbass, but he does.”

Roy squints. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Jason says and cracks a grin as he shoves Roy out of the way. “Now I want you to show up here tomorrow looking like you just got fucked six ways to Sunday and you’re back for more. Got it?”

“Heh,” Roy says, blowing a bubble. “I think I can handle that.”

 

: : :

 

Roy shows up to work the next day in maybe the tightest pair of skinny jeans known to man and a pair of worn out Docs, a backwards hat and a plaid button up with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, a new piercing in his lip.

“Fuck,” Jason says when he sees him, drags Roy into the back and gets him in Dick’s office, kisses him up against the Excel sheet with all their schedules on it.

“So this is...good?” Roy half-giggles when Jason bites at his jaw, pushes his shirt up to tongue the rings in his nipples.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” Jason says, dropping to his knees and grinning up at him. “So yeah.”

 

: : :

 

When Roy walks back out into the store he looks well fucked, his throat and neck covered in bruises and bitemarks, still a little pink in the face, hair sticking out from underneath his hat. 

“Hey,” he says when he runs into Tim on the way to the registers, lets his hand skim over the small of Tim’s back when he walks by, smirks when he realizes Tim’s following him. 

"You look...different," Tim says, narrowing his eyes at him behind his glasses. He's got a Dum Dum in his mouth they hand out to all the kids after they ride the carousel and Roy forgets to answer him for a minute, distracted by the flick of Tim's tongue, the silver glint of his tongue ring. 

"Do I?" He finally says, logging into a register. 

"Yeah," Tim says, walking up behind him, rubbing his thumb over the half-dollar sized hickey on his neck, dropping his hand lower to trace the ink peeking out from under Roy’s shirt sleeve. "Are we in some kind of competition to see who can come to work looking the sluttiest that I didn't know about?"

"Nope," Roy says and turns around in the small space, Tim not backing up an inch. 

“Good,” Tim grins, hollows his cheeks around the sucker then pulls it out of his mouth with a loud pop. “Cause you know I’d win.”

“I do know that,” Roy says, leaning in to wrap his mouth around the sucker, tasting Tim and root beer before he lets it out of his mouth with a slow smirk. “Not my fault if Jay can’t keep his hands -- or, you know, teeth -- off of me.”

“Hm,” Tim says, but he doesn’t get to finish his train of thought before they get a rush of people in the store and Roy spends the next hour and a half moving around him behind the counter, touching the small of his back when he has to reach for a bag, his hip when he has to move around Tim to grab one of the new discount cards. 

When the rush is over Tim climbs on top of the counter and sprawls out on his back, his shirt rising up his belly when he yawns and stretches, smirking a little when he catches Roy staring. 

Roy just rolls his eyes and looks away. “You’re not as pretty as you think you are,” he says while he unlocks his drawer and opens up a new roll of quarters. 

Tim just laughs, hops down and comes up behind him. “Liar,” he murmurs next to Roy’s ear and skips off to the back of the store to pester Steph. 

 

: : :

 

On Tuesday Roy wears a pair of skin-tight black pants and a grey tank top, lets Steph put his hair on top of his head in a man bun. 

Tim gives him an appreciative look when he walks in, tugs the knot out of his man bun while they’re waiting in line at Sbarro’s on their break and laughs at him. 

On Wednesday Roy wears a pair of shimmery black leather pants and a Sex Pistols shirt with the sleeves cropped off, cut into a v-neck to show off the ink on Roy’s chest.

Tim says _what’s a Sex Pistol_ and Roy loses his goddamn mind for about thirty seconds before he sees that little glint in Tim’s eye that tells him he’s just fucking with him, which -- it’s Tim, he really should have seen that coming. He does note that Tim seems to touch him a little bit more than usual that day, even if it is to shove half a cinnabon in his face or try to push him into the path of the mall train.

On Thursday Roy wears regular jeans and a black button up, lines his eyes with eyeliner and gives himself an undercut, gets a few more holes put in his ears, re-pierces the one in his eyebrow he let grow up a few months ago. 

Tim doesn’t seem to notice any of it, but he does spend half the day curled up in a corner, too hungover to function, so Roy figures it’s nothing personal. 

Friday, Tim drags in about an hour late. It’s been super fucking slow all day so Roy’s copped a squat behind the counter, sketching up a new tattoo he wants to get on the back of one of the flyers they’re supposed to hand out with every purchase. When he hears the tell-tale signs of Tim sucking down the last dregs of a frappuccino, Roy clambers up from his spot, puts his sketch away and leans across the counter. He hasn’t bothered to _dress up_ or whatever the fuck Jason talked him into doing because it’s clearly not working, just like he told him he wouldn’t, but even still, when Tim sees him his eyes get a touch wider and he lets the straw fall out of his mouth a little.

“Steph,” Tim says, still staring at Roy. “Watch the front?”

“Kay,” Steph says without looking up from her phone and Tim grabs Roy by the wrist and drags him to the back, presses Roy into the nearest surface and shoves his tongue down his throat, getting more handsy with him than he has in _weeks_ , running his fingers through his hair, groping his chest, his ass, grinding up on him. 

“Whoa,” Roy says, reluctant to stop whatever’s happening, but he’s gotta _know_. “I’ve been trying to get your attention all week and the one day I stop you’re all over me. What the hell.”

Tim licks his lips, smirks at him. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

Then his hand is on Roy’s dick over his jeans and Roy makes a sound like _dying_.

“You’re a moron,” Tim says and bites at Roy’s lip, licks away the little bit of blood he drew. Roy sucks on his tongue and gets his hand around the back of Tim’s neck, fucks his tongue into his mouth as Tim strokes and squeezes him, seriously almost comes as soon as Tim gets his dick out and wrap his hand around it, he’s _that_ hard up for it. 

“Fuck,” Roy says. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”

“Want me to stop?” Tim asks, halting his strokes.

“No,” Roy snaps, grabs Tim’s hand and makes him continue. “That’s -- kind of the opposite of what I want, _fuck_ , I’m going to come in like two seconds.”

Tim chuckles into Roy’s throat, slows his hand. “Do you really want me that bad, Roy?”

“Yes, you little _shit_ ,” Roy says. “You fucking know I do, now _please_ let me come, jesus christ.”

“Kay,” Tim says, tracing the shell of Roy’s ear with his tongue, taking his hand off of him entirely. “But since you asked so nicely I’ll let you pick. Do you want me to get you off with my hand,” he says, dragging Roy’s earlobe between his teeth. “Or my mouth?”

“Oh fuck,” Roy says softly. “Jesus. Your mouth, your _mouth_.”

Tim laughs into his skin again, then he’s dropping down to his knees right outside Dick’s office where anyone could walk in and see them, unbuttoning Roy’s jeans and sliding them down his hips just far enough to get his dick out, then taking Roy’s dick in his hand, licking a wet stripe up the underside of it before grinning up at him.

“Oh my god, Tim. I swear, if you don’t --”

But Roy’s words get caught in his throat when Tim wraps his mouth around him and swallows him down until his nose brushes the fine curls at the base of his dick, his throat fluttering around him. Roy’s head thuds back against the wall and Tim pulls off, gasping for air, then goes back to it, taking him just as deep before he starts bobbing up and down on Roy’s cock, quietly moaning around him, but it’s enough that Roy can feel the vibrations all up and down his dick, enough to make him bury his hands in Tim’s hair and fuck into his mouth. 

Tim moans louder for that, starts sucking Roy messier, making all kinds of wet, filthy noises around him and as soon as Roy looks down, sees what Tim’s mouth looks like stretched around him, his face and lips wet and shiny with precome and spit, Roy loses it, clenches his hand in Tim’s hair and comes in his mouth, tasting blood on his tongue trying to keep himself from making noise. 

Roy hauls Tim up by his shirt as soon as he’s regained motor function, gets his hand down Tim’s pants and jerks him off hard and fast, kissing him just as hard, until Tim’s hips jerks and he gasps against Roy’s mouth and Roy feels him come all over his hand. Roy grabs Tim by the hair and kisses him again as he comes down, then brings his sticky hand up to his mouth, but Tim grabs it before he can, licks it clean for him.

“Fuck,” Roy mutters, his dick making a valiant effort at getting hard again. 

Tim just grins at him, taps his finger to the center of Roy’s shirt. “Kierkegaard,” he says.

Roy’s eyebrows knit together. “Huh?”

“You were wondering,” Tim says. “Why today was different.” He tugs at the hem of Roy’s shirt. “Kierkegaard,” he says, then turns and walks back into the store.

Roy pulls his shirt out to look at it. He honestly can’t remember what he pulled on this morning. He woke up five minutes before he was supposed to be at work so he just pulled shit off the floor that smelled clean and made a mad dash for it. Apparently he’s wearing the Kierkegaard shirt he bought off the internet when he was high a few years ago, _when you label me, you negate me_ , written across the front in bold, black letters. 

So, okay. Maybe he went through a pretentious hipster phase. Apparently Tim doesn’t seem to mind.

Roy walks back out to the front, shows some lady where the My Little Pony backpacks are, then hops up on the counter next to where Tim is standing.

“So,” he says. “I mean, if that’s what does it for you I’m willing to go full hipster.”

“Shut up,” Tim says, opening a new box of bags.

“I’ll even grow one of those disgusting hipster ‘staches if that’s what gets you hot.”

“Go _away_ ,” Tim says, but Roy can see the grin peeking out of the corner of his mouth. “I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Roy laughs, smacking Tim’s ass as he walks by to help a customer get a shirt down. “Keep telling yourself that, babe.”


End file.
